


Alvernia (or Lost in the middle of a dark French forest)

by ARMEN15



Category: Bron | Broen | The Bridge
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22278883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: I found it in my old files and decided it was worth to be completed.
Relationships: Saga Norén/Henrik Sabroe
Kudos: 5





	Alvernia (or Lost in the middle of a dark French forest)

Saga Noren repented immediately she did not stop for the night earlier.  
French motorways had few scattered exits, one every many kilometres, especially in the less populated areas of the Massif central.  
And in the evening, with a strong rain, they were quite deserted, too.  
Society, civilization, petrol stations, service areas, things she now understood were important with a flat tyre and the rim damaged. Never take them for granted.  
The phone had a notch only and estimated one hour and fifty one minutes of autonomy, the Porsche had no charger and Saga had forgotten to buy one for emergencies.  
She was used to check carefully her equipment and her car, in normal circumstances.  
These weren’t normal, quite the opposite.  
She was travelling, an abrupt and sudden leave, a detachment from everything, a new hope.  
If not now, when, she told herself while waiting outside the operating room Astrid was into; the two nurses of the evening shift believed she was her mother, so they offered comfort, coffee and biscuits while Saga tried to explain them Alice was dead and she was police.  
In vain. She realised it was useless, for them she was the mother detective who saved her little girl, whatever she declared.  
They knew Henrik was in the ER and they wanted to believe Astrid had a real family around.  
The tow truck was busy, an accident with a few wounded people on the national route, half and hour of driving to get to her.  
“Nuit de loupes”, wolf’s night, said the man of the road rescue, and Saga took refuge from the pouring rain inside the car, maybe wolves were indeed in the area. she was sure in the Mercantour there was a famous sanctuary, so probably also the Cevennes hills were populated by them.  
She was in the middle of a coniferous forest, she was sure.  
The tall dark shapes and the smell of pines, the altitude was enough for such a vegetation.  
But the rain was a nuisance, indeed.  
When she left the car after the skid to check the damage, she got wet all of a sudden, so she was back inside to grab from her minimal travel bad another dry cardigan, but the sensation of being wet to the core remained. Wet, like….

It was a cold night.  
Lights and sirens, everywhere.  
Darkness too thick to be lighted by the police car headlights.  
Soggy hair, rain drops mixed with tears.  
They got Martin, handcuffed he was lead to the service car.  
Saga was happy to discover another assassin., she was police, her duty to solve crimes.  
Martin was looking straight into her eyes, in silence and over his face saga read the history of their friendship and the path they walked together.  
Was Martin thinking she could let their bond be a deterrent to her police work? 

A subtle fear lead Saga to watch the hours and call again the emergency number . They had to arrive, it was their duty.  
A different voice answered her call. A woman. Change shift or a central with more than one operators.  
The tow truck was still involved with the crash, now mortal, they offered her another one, a private service, more expensive, and Saga said yes, everything to leave as soon as possible that hard rain.  
She hang up and observe the phone.  
Her sense insisted to save the charge, to activate energy saving.  
Her heart went for a call, just a short one, to hear his voice.  
Saga Noren, Malmo detective, used to listen to her brain.  
Saga Noren, a human being, scrolled the screen to get that number, so familiar, the number she had sent a selfie with the old castle up on the Alsace hills, bathed by the spring sun.  
Maybe she’d awake him, maybe he’d be with Astrid, she paused briefly before touching the screen.  
She’d avoid to worry him too much, help was coming soon, the rain was slowly diminishing.  
Maybe Henrik wasn’t much available, but she needed at least his voice.  
To admit that was a progress.  
To accept that she, alone under a downpour in the middle of Alvernia, a flat tyre and shivering for the cold, wanted to hear her man’s voice, a voice hundreds of kilometres away, was an achievement. It was a legitimate and correct desire, with just a hint of selfishness.  
He answered at the second ring, he sure kept the phone close.  
“Saga, how are you?”  
Saga smiled, the rain and the car weren’t’ a problem anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> All the places described are in the middle of France, a rural area where you do find a motorway exit every 50 km or so.


End file.
